I met Matt Skiba. Again. (Or, Heavens Fucking Own)
So here I am, sitting in the student lounge at school with a nasty vile yogurt-and-granola disaster, fresh from my first set of classes after the Heavens/Skiba encounter and prepping myself mentally for the Green Key meeting.
I don't even know where to start. The driving, the torrential rain, the hours upon hours I spent being bored in Cambridge. Oh, how it was worth it.
The entire club was so fucking small, the actual club was through this restaurant, so we couldn't even line up until the doors opened at nine (I'd been told it was eight! Bah). And even then they wouldn't let us in because the opening band, Darker My Love, had only just arrived. Losers.
I ended up talking with this girl, Caroline, who was standing next to me in front of the stage. There was no rail. There was stage and then not stage; there were amps, little ones, and I spent the show with the Skiba's crotch in my face and kept consciously telling myself not to reach out and poke him in the leg. Oh god, I wanted to. Anyway, Caroline was great, she's in the Blood Pact and we talked a lot about the Trio and Matt and Heavens. Oh joy.
Darker My Love didn't suck, per se, but it was meh. The microphone volume was crap so you couldn't hear him sing, plus they all looked nasty and scuzzy and unclean. Ew.
It was almost amazing how they fit all six people on stage for Heavens; five all came out (Josiah, the drummer, the chick on keyboards, the other guitarist and the bassist) and we all cheered for the first time all night. Then Matt hopped on stage from the front, he'd pretty much come in the same way we all filed in, and that's when everyone lost it.
Heavens. Was. Amazing. They played everything on the album, and another song called "Adored." It was all spot-on, just fucking incredible. I was just staring up at him, and that first rush of seeing him again - it's kind of like being punched in the stomach so you can't breathe, and just relish the very idea of being alive.
Right after he finished singing "Leave," before the musicians stopped, Matt bailed out, but I trusted what Caroline had said about waiting by the bus to find him. She and her boyfriend weren't staying, they'd seen them in New Jersey (when Matt did leave right away, to pick Monica up at the airport, Caroline told me) and had a five hour drive home. And she snitched a set list (dated from the New Jersey show) off the stage and gave it to me. Awww. And I kept the crumpled up bit of paper someone chucked at Matt with the Bears game score; he was talking about it, how he's not a sports fan, but when Chicago teams do well, he watches. Awww.
So I ran right out and went around the corner to where the bus was. And I stood there in all of my deafness, waiting.
A few roadies went onto the bus, and then Josiah Steinbrick. I couldn't think of what to say to him as he walked by, but promised myself that when he stepped out, I would.
That plan was foiled. When the door opened, the roadies came out, followed by Joe, followed by Matt.
He had only walked slightly past me when I found my voice, and called him over with a moronic and stupidly eager, "Hi Matt!"
I introduced myself again, explaining how I met him/the Trio earlier this year, and told him I had something for him. I wasn't going to mention this unless it panned out, lest you all think I'm lame. But before I'd left, I'd tucked a copy of the September issue of "The Phoenix," the school paper, in my pocket. It being the one that ran the review I wrote of "Patent Pending." So I pull that out and show him, and I forget what he said, but he asked if he could keep it. And I mean, come on - that's why I brought it.
I asked if he'd sign the CD for me (I planned ahead, seriously, I knew it would happen) and he said it was the least he could do. So I pull that out, but neither one of us had a Sharpie or anything, so he got one from one of the roadie/tech guys I think. While he was signing it I asked for a picture and threw in a "hugs, maybe?" for good measure. He was wonderful about it; the guy who gave him the pen asked if I'd want him to take a picture of us, and of course, I said that'd be great.
So I hand the camera over (having left some at the end of the roll, just in case) and Matt steps back beside me and puts his arm around me. So I put mine around him. Fair is fair. The guy takes the picture and I thank Matt about a million more times; he was saying the same kind of thing. He's so fucking gracious, I can't take it.
I got the pictures developed this morning, and they pretty much rock. Being so close (practically on) the stage had it's plusses and it's downside, but holy hell, it turned out so much better than I expected...yet at the same time, I knew. I just knew, in my heart of hearts, that I'd get the chance. And I'm damned proud of myself for talking to him; this one wasn't handed to me, I actually stood there and waited and took it upon myself to start a conversation. And he wins at life. The end.
All right, almost the end. My ears are still ringing and the backs of both my hands are still stamped/drawn on. The Middle East takes that shit very, very seriously.
You have no idea.
Pictures are coming, stay tuned.
I don't even know where to start. The driving, the torrential rain, the hours upon hours I spent being bored in Cambridge. Oh, how it was worth it.
The entire club was so fucking small, the actual club was through this restaurant, so we couldn't even line up until the doors opened at nine (I'd been told it was eight! Bah). And even then they wouldn't let us in because the opening band, Darker My Love, had only just arrived. Losers.
I ended up talking with this girl, Caroline, who was standing next to me in front of the stage. There was no rail. There was stage and then not stage; there were amps, little ones, and I spent the show with the Skiba's crotch in my face and kept consciously telling myself not to reach out and poke him in the leg. Oh god, I wanted to. Anyway, Caroline was great, she's in the Blood Pact and we talked a lot about the Trio and Matt and Heavens. Oh joy.
Darker My Love didn't suck, per se, but it was meh. The microphone volume was crap so you couldn't hear him sing, plus they all looked nasty and scuzzy and unclean. Ew.
It was almost amazing how they fit all six people on stage for Heavens; five all came out (Josiah, the drummer, the chick on keyboards, the other guitarist and the bassist) and we all cheered for the first time all night. Then Matt hopped on stage from the front, he'd pretty much come in the same way we all filed in, and that's when everyone lost it.
Heavens. Was. Amazing. They played everything on the album, and another song called "Adored." It was all spot-on, just fucking incredible. I was just staring up at him, and that first rush of seeing him again - it's kind of like being punched in the stomach so you can't breathe, and just relish the very idea of being alive.
Right after he finished singing "Leave," before the musicians stopped, Matt bailed out, but I trusted what Caroline had said about waiting by the bus to find him. She and her boyfriend weren't staying, they'd seen them in New Jersey (when Matt did leave right away, to pick Monica up at the airport, Caroline told me) and had a five hour drive home. And she snitched a set list (dated from the New Jersey show) off the stage and gave it to me. Awww. And I kept the crumpled up bit of paper someone chucked at Matt with the Bears game score; he was talking about it, how he's not a sports fan, but when Chicago teams do well, he watches. Awww.
So I ran right out and went around the corner to where the bus was. And I stood there in all of my deafness, waiting.
A few roadies went onto the bus, and then Josiah Steinbrick. I couldn't think of what to say to him as he walked by, but promised myself that when he stepped out, I would.
That plan was foiled. When the door opened, the roadies came out, followed by Joe, followed by Matt.
He had only walked slightly past me when I found my voice, and called him over with a moronic and stupidly eager, "Hi Matt!"
I introduced myself again, explaining how I met him/the Trio earlier this year, and told him I had something for him. I wasn't going to mention this unless it panned out, lest you all think I'm lame. But before I'd left, I'd tucked a copy of the September issue of "The Phoenix," the school paper, in my pocket. It being the one that ran the review I wrote of "Patent Pending." So I pull that out and show him, and I forget what he said, but he asked if he could keep it. And I mean, come on - that's why I brought it.
I asked if he'd sign the CD for me (I planned ahead, seriously, I knew it would happen) and he said it was the least he could do. So I pull that out, but neither one of us had a Sharpie or anything, so he got one from one of the roadie/tech guys I think. While he was signing it I asked for a picture and threw in a "hugs, maybe?" for good measure. He was wonderful about it; the guy who gave him the pen asked if I'd want him to take a picture of us, and of course, I said that'd be great.
So I hand the camera over (having left some at the end of the roll, just in case) and Matt steps back beside me and puts his arm around me. So I put mine around him. Fair is fair. The guy takes the picture and I thank Matt about a million more times; he was saying the same kind of thing. He's so fucking gracious, I can't take it.
I got the pictures developed this morning, and they pretty much rock. Being so close (practically on) the stage had it's plusses and it's downside, but holy hell, it turned out so much better than I expected...yet at the same time, I knew. I just knew, in my heart of hearts, that I'd get the chance. And I'm damned proud of myself for talking to him; this one wasn't handed to me, I actually stood there and waited and took it upon myself to start a conversation. And he wins at life. The end.
All right, almost the end. My ears are still ringing and the backs of both my hands are still stamped/drawn on. The Middle East takes that shit very, very seriously.
You have no idea.
Pictures are coming, stay tuned.